


Painting Paradise

by Julia_Skysong



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Bob Ross are friends, Aziraphale has trauma, Aziraphale starts painting, Crowley is super supportive, Ficlet, Fluff, Heaven is abusive, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tumblr Prompt, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, art therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 12:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20966780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julia_Skysong/pseuds/Julia_Skysong
Summary: @lallyphant: Imagine: Aziraphale being friends with Bob Ross.Aziraphale starts painting with help from the One and Only Bob Ross, and finds it very therapeutic. It becomes his safety net, a way he can express what he's truly feeling. Crowley is secretly impressed.





	Painting Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Whelp. I imagined it. I got super excited and reblogged it with some added headcanons. Then throughout the evening I kept getting more and more ideas so I expanded it and put it up here. Interestingly enough, I ended up writing it from Crowley's perspective, even though it's for Azirphale. I liked how it turned out though. Hopefully you do too. Enjoy!

“I can't think of anything more rewarding than being able to express yourself to others through painting. Exercising the imagination, experimenting with talents, being creative; these things, to me, are truly the windows to your soul.”  
― Bob Ross, The Joy of Painting with Bob Ross, Vol. 29

“This is your world  
You’re the creator  
Find freedom on this canvas  
Believe, that you can do it,  
‘Cuz you can do it.  
You can do it.”

...

They meet by accident in 1985, while Aziraphale is on an American assignment. It's raining, and Bob had forgotten an umbrella. Aziraphale didn't. He knows who the man is, of course. He watchs his show on PBS, and finds it very relaxing. So he runs a bit to catch up to him, taking a bag of groceries in one arm and holding the umbrella over both of them with the other. Bob is immensely grateful, of course, and they start chattering away easily. Aziraphale is invited inside to wait out the rest of the rain, and he openly admires the paintings scattered around the little home, sighing that he wishs he could paint. Bob offers to teach him, and Azirphale is _delighted_.__

_ _It's rough going at first. The scenes are messy, the paint doesn't flow like it should, and the colors are all wrong. There are many frustrated phone calls to Crowley in these days. _ _

_ _"I was never meant to be a creating Angel, I can't do it," Aziraphale laments._ _

_ _"You were never meant to like food either," Crowley points out, trying to be helpful without coming across as too invested or caring. "You'll learn, angel, just keep practicing."_ _

_ _Bob is also extremely helpful and encouraging, offering subtle tips that made a huge difference. Slowly but surely, the brushstrokes stabilize, the colors improve, and the paintings become copies of Bob's. Once that style is mastered, Aziraphale feels brave enough to start experimenting. They become less like a Bob Ross and more of his own personality. Once he knows _how_, he really starts enjoying it. ___ _

_ _ _ _After moving back to England he starts doing little scenes from St. James Park. Ducks in the pond and flowers in the garden and birds flying across a golden sunset. Crowley will come and sit with him while he does, usually bringing a bottle of wine that Aziraphale INSISTS be kept far away from the painting so he doesn’t spoil it. He doesn’t like to talk while he paints, so Crowley just sits there quietly, glaring at passersby and making sure no one bothers his angel. He likes watching Aziraphale paint. Likes watching him become hyperfocused and relaxed at the same time, likes watching his bare forearms, sleeves rolled out of the way, as they move the brush mesmerizingly. He likes watching his eyes light up with inspiration and the small smile creep across his face as the painting comes together. This is where Aziraphale becomes the most like himself, where he's not worried about anyone breathing down his neck and critizing his every move. Here he's at peace, and Crowley likes that. He doesn't see it often enough. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _When the work is completed, Aziraphale always worries that it’s not good enough, even though Crowley is always astounded at how well he can capture the scene in front of them. He wants to say it, of course, but he's not sure how. So then he does he let people approach, practically forcing them to come against their will. Once they're there, unsure of how they managed to end up in this part of the park, they spot the painting and shower compliments on the obvious talent. Aziraphale blushes and shrugs it off, but Crowley can tell by the little skip in his step on their way back to the Bentley how happy it’s made him, and the doubts are gone. Crowley teaches him how to send pictures via email, and Aziraphale proudly shows off each new painting to Bob, who sends back kind notes._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Crowley can tell when it's been a bad day. Sometimes he'll come over in the evenings and there'll be a new painting, but it's not like the sunny ones from the park. These are all grey and blue and dark. These have storm clouds and broken trees and scared animals hiding in a cave. A white rabbit is a common theme. One memorable painting has an avalanche descending from a snowy mountain, a muddy river of chaos crushing trees and sending boulders flying through the air. The little rabbit is in the corner, desperately trying to hop out of the way. Crowley doesn't need to be told that Gabriel had come to visit that day. On those days he makes sure to tread a little softer, with less teasing and more kindness than usual, wishing he could do more but not quite sure how. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _In July of 1995, Aziraphale stops. For the first time in years there's a dry spell, where there are no new paintings and no outings to the park. It's too painful with Bob gone. It's a reminder of how fleeting human life is, and how completely unfair Heaven can be. It's Ineffable, he keeps repeating in the silence, even when Crowley hasn't spoken. If he didn't know any better, Crowley thinks it sounds like he's trying to convince himself of that fact. Crowley pretends he knows better. But he knows it's not good for the angel to bottle everything up, and he's come to realize that painting is the only way he can safely say what he's really thinking. So he books them a trip to the Scottish moors that fall, where the mist and gloom seem fitting for Aziraphale's grief. Several haunting paintings of the moors return with them to London. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _They watch re-runs of the show after that, Aziraphale copying the movements just to hear Bob's encouragement again. Crowley only lightly teases Aziraphale about beating the devil out of his brushes, and Aziraphale shakes his head fondly in response. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"There are no mistakes, only happy little accidents." _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Is that his version of Ineffable?" Crowley asks, sipping a good rosé._ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"I suppose so. Rather good philosophy if you ask me." _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _Crowley wrinkles his nose in response. "Maybe for painting but not for the whole of life. Not for all of history."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Maybe not in the grand scheme of things," Aziraphale agreed. "But it works for some."_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Like what?"_ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Like us." _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Ngk." _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _"Here, wash these brushes for me, will you? Beat the devil out of them?" _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _He only stops again in 2008, with the arrival of the anti-christ and the new position as gardener for the American Ambassador. He misses it, of course, but trying to keep up with young Warlock is far too time consuming. Sometimes though, when it's too hot for even Warlock to run around, they'll sit under the shade of a pine tree and watch Bob Ross' videos on Crowley's mobile. And for once, Aziraphale relaxes, the stress of trying to prevent the upcoming Armageddon momentarily gone. _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _And the world _doesn't_ end, and Azirphale doesn't die by Hellfire for his betrayal and he and Crowley are left alone, free to be on their own side. The bookshop and all the paintings are safe, brought back from the ashes by Adam, for which Aziraphale is grateful. He pulls out his easel and buys a blank canvas and sits before it eagerly, but his hand stops just before dipping into the paint. He stares at it for a long time, 11 years worth of memories overwhelming him, and even more than that if he were being honest. Crowley doesn't comment as the hours turned into days and days turned into weeks, and still it remained white. He learned a long time ago that it was best not to say anything until it was finished. They have a picnic at St. James' but Aziraphale doesn't bring his supplies with him this time. ___ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _And then one day a few months later it’s raining, so they stay indoors in the cozy little bookshop in front of the warm fire. They'd been laughing and drinking, talking about nothing and everything and simply enjoying each other's company. Aziraphale suddenly falls silent, staring into space below Crowley's feet. He looks over at the canvas, and Crowley can tell something's changed._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"Struck by divine inspiration?" _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"I...er..." Aziraphale stammers, looking slightly embarassed. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _"Go on, then. I don't mind. I was feeling up for a nap anyways." _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Crowley falls asleep to the sound of raindrops and soft brushstrokes. He's not sure how long he's asleep, but when he wakes up the rain has turned to snow and Aziraphale is busy in the kitchen, probably making a cup of cocoa. Crowley wraps the tartan blanket (whenever did that appear?) around his body and shuffled over to view the canvas. It’s positively breathtaking, and Crowley actually doesn’t breathe for several minutes while taking it all in. It’s clearly Eden, filled to the brim with flowers. Roses, acacia, jasmine, primrose, ambrosia, gardenia, jonquil, basalm, rainflower, chrysanthemums and...was that _coriander_?? Crowley blinks slowly, wondering if it's all a coincidence that every. single. one. had symbolic ties to love, before he notices an old copy of "Floral Poetry And The Language of Flowers" lying open beside the easel. ___ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _What really gets him, though, is the snake coiled around the rose bushes. It’s not the typical representation, with the tempting and the apples and the evil smirk. No, this snake is peaceful, with golden eyes shining with a wide range of emotions that shouldn’t have been possible to capture with paint. They were hopeful and shy and pleading and kind, and definitely, definitely filled with love. And it was staring at a single white feather on the grass in front of him. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Do I look like that all the time?" Crowley wonders somewhat despairingly. He hasn't meant to say it out loud, but the emotions from the painting are too strong. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _“No dear. Only when you look at me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Crowley realizes Aziraphale has come to stand beside him, nervously twiddling his paint stained thumbs. He's staring straight ahead, eyes flitting over the canvas. Neither look at each other for a long moment. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Do you..." Crowley clears his throat, trying to find the words. "Do you know what they all mean?" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"I chose them specifically for that reason," Aziraphale says, breath heavy with anticipation. "Do you?" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Crowley slips his hand from under the blanket, entertwining their fingers. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _"Yes," he whispers, voice hoarse. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _He turns then, bending down ever so slightly to softly brush Aziraphale's lips against his own. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _They stay that way for quite some time, and a boquet of ambrosia and rainflowers bloom in the windowsill, framed against the snow._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Meanings of all the flowers (according to Wikipedia): 
> 
> Red Roses: true love  
Acacia: secret love  
Jasmine: unconditional and eternal love  
Primrose: eternal love  
Ambrosia: love is reciprocated  
Gardenia: secret love, joy, sweet love  
Jonquil: return my affection  
Basalm: ardent love  
Rainflower: I love you back  
Red Chrysanthemums: I love  
Coriander: lust
> 
> Come follow me on Tumblr for more ficlets, writing updates, and all things Good Omens! @Julia-Skysong-fanficauthor


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